


Please, Please, Please

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blood, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 11:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: Happiness nipped him in warm waves and left him wanting. He yielded to the jaw of pleasure and happily allowed it to damage him all over. It gnashed through the fine material of his suit. It tore at him and met his enthusiasm. ...  Oh, the bruises his pleasure would leave. He could practically feel them form, spontaneously, tight and red under his skin. They would turn grey and purple like the evening sky and he would finger them to feel their ache, to make their memories rise again and again to the surface.Or,The one where Alana Bloom has taken everything from Hannibal, but she is utterly incapable of taking Will. . .





	Please, Please, Please

Music beckoned Will from bed.

“What are you playing?” He asked as he sauntered into the great room where Hannibal sat at the grand piano.

“Scarlatti’s Sonata in F Minor,” Hannibal answered without pausing. His fingers created the music from memory. “He’s an Italian Baroque composer,” Hannibal added when he saw Will’s eyebrow flick up.

Will strode over. He was still nude. Completely. Hannibal had bathed and dressed himself in his customary three piece suit after rising from their bed. His one concession to informality was to forgo a tie, and his crisp, white shirt was open at his neck. But here stood his Will, eyes still dusky with sleep, hair messy, and an animalistic fragrance of things they had done together late into the night coming warmly from his body. An odd pleasure jangled in him to see Will’s flesh, all of Will’s flesh, gleam in the late morning sun, while he sat there fully clothed.

Will arrived next to Hannibal, and though Hannibal did not stop playing, he looked up to smile at Will. Not missing a note, he leaned over and lowered his face to lick the smiling scar that stretched across Will’s abdomen. Licking his lips, he returned his gaze to the ebony and ivory keys and his own fingers as they drifted in languid notes. “Sounds pretty.” Will said. “Italian Baroque because we are, where? In Florence?”

“Yes, Will, we are in Florence. Don’t you like it here?”

“Maybe I do, although probably not the same way you like it here.” He stepped closer to Hannibal, close enough so Hannibal could lean his head against Will’s bare body as he played. “What do you like about Florence?”

Hannibal looked up again to capture the still sleepy expression that cloaked Will’s face. “I like the colors and the way things move. It is different than anywhere else. And I like the feeling it evokes in me.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“The life I’ve had, Will, could make any good man turn very, very bad. I suppose Florence makes me want to be good or at least better.”

“Wasn’t that always Lucifer’s quest?” Will chuckled.

Hannibal silently wished Will would touch his head, would allow his fingers to drift through his hair. He wished it, and made it happen. Will stroked Hannibal’s forehead and then his silky hair, idly but adoringly. Hannibal closed his eyes and asked, “What dreams have you been having, Will Graham?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well, I would not have asked otherwise,” Hannibal smiled simply. Will took his hand away from Hannibal’s hair and dragged his fist against his eyes with a yawn. His innocence so resembled that of a sweet boy’s.

“Hmmh, well, I don’t remember any dreams. In fact, I’d say it’s been a long time since I’ve seen any dreams at all.”

“That is good. It means you are sleeping deeply and getting good rest. Come here. Sit,” Hannibal commanded and Will complied. Will shimmied onto the piano bench and pressed up close to Hannibal.

“I like to watch your hands,” Will whispered.

“I love it when you say that,” Hannibal sighed.

“You know I don’t know much about music, but this is. . . well, it’s nice.”

“ _Nice?_ What an eloquent summary,” Hannibal teased. Happiness nipped him in warm waves and left him wanting. He yielded to the jaw of pleasure and happily allowed it to damage him all over. It gnashed through the fine material of his suit. It tore at him and met his enthusiasm. The teeth of joy sank deeper into his flesh when he heard Will chuckle in response to his teasing. Hannibal’s eyes rolled back in his head as his fingers completed a complex trill over the keyboard. Oh, the bruises his pleasure would leave. He could practically feel them form, spontaneously, tight and red under his skin. They would turn grey and purple like the evening sky and he would finger them to feel their ache, to make their memories rise again and again to the surface.

“Ok,” Will said, “How about this? When you play, it’s like I have these secret pools of water in my ears and each note you make creates a series of ripples on the surface. I can feel it. I can feel you, Hannibal. Your fingers are touching the keys, but in my ears I’m experiencing something very personal and sacred.” As he spoke, his voice grew lower and his face was close enough so Hannibal felt his breath on his ear.

“Now those are beautifully chosen words,” Hannibal said as he brought the music toward its lilting conclusion. “You do me great honor when you allow me in that skull fort you’ve built, and let me hear your thoughts. Your real thoughts.”

“I never could build a fort against you,” Will whispered and tilted his head up so he caught Hannibal’s earlobe between his teeth. “I tried so hard,” at this, he slipped his hand beneath Hannibal’s vest and pressed against his hard, flat stomach. Hannibal missed a note and he hissed in a combination of annoyance and arousal. Will’s hand dragged down over Hannibal’s stomach and fumbled with his belt. Hannibal missed another note and then decided to give up altogether. He turned on the piano bench toward Will.

“Oh, you are misbehaving, you naughty boy. You have confused my sonata. Whatever will we do with you?” He caught Will’s mouth between his lasciviously grinning lips.

“Whatever will we do?” Will growled against Hannibal’s lips and straddled the piano bench so he could thrust up against Hannibal’s hip and thigh. Hannibal felt Will’s hard, hot prick rub against the soft, soft wool of his pants. He was like an unruly pup, grabbing at Hannibal and grinding his arousal against him. Hannibal closed his eyes and sighed in a contentedly civilized manner.

“If you keep up at this you shall make me come in my trousers and this very, very fine suit will be utterly ruined.”

Will ardently kissed him with a mighty suck on his lower lip. “Do you mind so very much?”

“I do not mind at all,” Hannibal chuckled as Will brought his hand to the lusty bulge in Hannibal’s pants.

“Italian Baroque gets you this hard?”

“Mmmh, that and your words, Will. The sound of your voice alone could finish me,” Hannibal moaned happily as Will stroked him through the luxurious material and caught his mouth in a deep and demanding kiss. Will’s hands were busy freeing the aching length of Hannibal’s cock from his pants, but Hannibal used his hands to stroke into Will’s hair and pull at his neck. Will pressed urgent kisses into Hannibal’s neck and tore at his shirt so he could bite at his chest and shoulder.

“Shall we go to the bedroom?” Will gasped.

“No,” Hannibal murmured against Will’s face. “Here. I want this memory here. I want to think of this every time I play my piano. This is what I want, Will.” He’d get what he wanted this time. He’d get the golden ticket. He’d get them all. “On your knees my beautiful boy,” Hannibal whispered and closed his eyes. Will moved away and a breeze caught Hannibal’s neck and cheeks and lips where Will’s lips had been.

He opened his eyes.

“Well, Hannibal, you certainly know how to make a mess of things,” Alana Bloom said. She had barged into the deepest recess of his memory palace. Already, Dr. Bloom had taken his books, his pencils, his paper, and even his toilet. His cooking privileges had been revoked. She was chipping away brick by brick at his dignity. And now. Here she was inserting herself into the inner sanctum of his world away from worlds.

She spoke on and on. He did not hear her. His eyes were open, but his ears had filled themselves with Will’s voice and closed themselves to Dr. Bloom.

His erection withered against his inner thigh, but even as she spoke, he traveled back to Florence.

“What does she want?” Will whispered. He approached Hannibal from behind. He put his hands on Hannibal’s hips and rested his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder.

“To tear me from you, like meat from bone, my sweet, succulent boy.”

“Will you let her?”

“No, Will. No one can take you from me. And I will never be apart from you. Never.”

“Hannibal,” Will breathed. Hannibal turned in his arms. They could feel each other’s breath on their faces. The room had grown dark. Will was close, but Hannibal could not see him very well. “What do you want?”

Hannibal pressed his body against Will. He reached up and plunged his fingers into Will’s silky curls. “Touching you is better than playing any piano,” Hannibal said against Will’s neck. “I want you to know and feel everything that I’ve ever wanted for you. Please, please, please, Will. Allow me this.”

“Where are we now?”

“In one of my many rooms.”

“It’s colder and darker here.”

“Yes.”

“Are we hiding?”

“Not exactly,” Hannibal muttered. In another place Alana’s voice droned like a mechanical thrum. Hannibal closed his eyes and brought Will closer to him.

“What will happen now?” Will asked.

“Hush, Will. No more questions.” He silenced Will, but for the delicate ripple of his breath, the eager tide of his pulse. His fingers sought the bumps and ridges of Will’s spine and then traveled up them with slow determination as though they were steps leading him someplace very important. His hands came to rest on the crests of Will’s scapula, which they traced tenderly. All around them, candles began to spontaneously light and glow. “Do you see?”

“Yes,” Will sighed.

Hannibal tilted his head to the side to expose his neck for Will. “You know what to do?”

“Yes.”

“You know so very much what I like?”

“Yes.”

“Do it then,” Hannibal commanded and Will sank his teeth into the fleshy tendon on Hannibal’s neck. He bit down hard. Hannibal moaned and dug his fingers into Will’s hips. “Harder,” he gasped. Will complied and bit him harder, sucking up the bruise as he worked his teeth deep in Hannibal’s skin. Hannibal felt Will’s teeth break his skin. He felt his own blood pool into Will’s mouth and he stood and gave himself up, and dripped in glorious ecstasy into his darling’s mouth.

“What the fuck? Guards!” Alana shouted. “Hannibal, where is that blood coming from? What sort of shit are you pulling here?”

The panic in her voice was tinged with rage. It was exquisite. Hannibal opened his eyes and smiled at Dr. Bloom as he felt blood from the wound on his neck drip into the fabric of his prison uniform.

“He must have a sharp in there,” Alana hissed as guards swarmed in. “Who the fuck left a fucking sharp in Lecter’s cell?” Her face was pink with fury.

“You see, Will, I told you she could not take you. And look how frustrated we have made her!” Hannibal giggled as he embraced Will. He rubbed against Will. “It’s too good. Oh, it’s too good!”

“So I did okay?” Will asked. His lips were smeared in Hannibal’s blood. Hannibal rubbed at it with his thumb and then kissed him deeply.

“You did marvelously,” he beamed.

The guards were strapping him to the transport dolly. They were restraining his arms behind his back and covering his mouth with the face guard. Hannibal felt the blood at his neck as it congealed. Alana paced in front of him, trying to regain and maintain some semblance of composure.

He thought of promises he’d keep. He thought of Will watching him exact his justice. It was exquisite.

Bound as he was, he smiled beneath the face guard. It was too good. He’d come in his trousers after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading... this Drabble was inspired by Please, please, please by the Smiths. Despite the fact there was really no popular music in the series, there are so many phenomenal songs that capture the essence of these two. What are some of your favorite Hannigram songs?


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